


Alternative Ending to Angels Take Manhattan

by thespian_trash



Series: Doctor Who Fics [3]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, BBC, Episode Fix-It: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, F/M, Oneshot, Post-Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, Spoilers for Episode: s07e05 The Angels Take Manhattan, The Angels Take Manhattan, Weeping Angels - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 11:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespian_trash/pseuds/thespian_trash
Summary: This oneshot pics up near the end of Angels Take Manhattan (so spoiler alert for that episode), but I must warn you...it is NOT a happy ending.





	Alternative Ending to Angels Take Manhattan

I wake up gasping for air, my hand absent-mindedly reaching for Amy's. I find it, and I hold on tight. She's still unconscious, but she's alive. I can't believe we did it. Jumped. Together, like she said. We beat the paradox, and we're  _here._  In a...graveyard? I look around, perplexed to find myself surrounded by crumbling headstones and flattened grass. The TARDIS is nowhere to be seen, and neither is River or the Doctor. Strange, but I'll take it, now that there isn't a horde of frankly  _terrifying_  Weeping Angels trying to feed off of my time energy.

"Amy," I gently shake my wife's shoulder, trying to coax her to wake up. She stirs a bit at my touch, but it takes a few minutes for her eyes to open. When she does, I immediately bend down to hug her, pulling her to sit up on the grass, and bury my head in her ginger hair. "Oh my God, Amy," I whisper into her ear. "I love you."

She doesn't reply.

"Amy?" I pull out of our hug and lean back to examine her face. Her pale Scottish skin has somehow managed to become even whiter, and she looks like a ghost.

Slowly, her lips begin to move, and the words that escape her mouth chill me to the bone, because the calmness of her voice tells me that something is horribly wrong. "Rory..." the syllables of my name roll gently off of her tongue. "Turn around in the direction I am facing, and when you do, don't blink."

My body goes rigid, and before I turn around, I scan the landscape behind Amy to make sure we aren't surrounded. The graveyard looks empty. No statues where there shouldn't be any. Slowly, I turn around, my hand still clutching Amy's, and we rise to stand. Before us are three Weeping Angels, their heads in their hands, hiding menacing faces and vicious teeth.

"Remember Rory, don't blink," Amy repeats quietly.

"How could I forget not to blink?" I ask rather loudly, panicking now that I know we aren't out of danger yet.

"Don't blink, and don't look any of them in the eye," she continues, unfazed by my raised voice.

My eyes are starting to tire now, but I wink first my right eye and then my left, giving them each a break. "Why? What happens if you look them in the eye?" I ask, slightly alarmed that Amy or the Doctor didn't say anything earlier.

"Oh my God, Rory, did you look one in the eye?" Amy breaks out of her cool demeanor, her eyes still trained on the three angels in front of us, who haven't moved yet.

"I...I don't know...maybe for a split second. Why?" I ask, confused, like always.

"Because‒" she starts, but I interrupt, without meaning to.

"Ten," my vocals croak. I hear the word, but I don't remember saying anything.

"Close your eyes, Rory,  _now!_ " Amy yells.

"But I thought I wasn't supposed to bli‒"

" _Now!_ " Amy yells again, and I've gotten so used to obeying her, that I automatically close my eyes. "I've got the Angels covered. Your job is to hold my hand and keep your eyes  _shut_. Do you understand?" Amy asks, all emotion removed from her voice, which scares me more than it probably should.

I mean to say  _Yes, I understand_ , but for some reason, my lips won't form the words. Instead, I hear them say "Nine," but it's not me that says it.

"Rory!" Amy scolds, and I can tell without even looking that she wants to turn from the Angels and give me a glare, but she absolutely cannot. "I said keep your eyes shut!"

"They are! They are!" I cry in defense, a tumor of panic growing in my chest. I hate not being able to see, but something tells me it's better than what might happen if I open my eyes.

"I don't understand!" the fear in Amy's voice sends shivers down my spine, and I squeeze her hand harder, silently letting her know that she isn't alone. She squeezes back, but when she speaks, she doesn't sound any more at ease. "Don't blink...don't look them in the eye...an image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel...what else, what else, what else?" Amy mutters frustratedly, her tone dropping to a frantic whisper. I don't know what to say.

"Eight."

There is a moment of silence, and Amy begins to slowly lead me backwards. She must still have her eyes trained on the creatures as we retreat, trying to get out of range in case Amy accidentally blinks.

"Rory," my Amy says softly, still guiding my footsteps, although she is as blind as I am, because her eyes must remain forward. "You looked an Angel in the eye, and it's trying to take over your body. Replace little bits of Rory with cold, hard stone." I shiver. "That happened to me, once, too. But the Doctor told me to close my eyes, and the Angel couldn't do any more damage. I did, and it worked. But you're still counting, and that isn't good." My heart is racing, but I listen to every word Amy says.

"Seven." It's like I‒or the Angel‒is trying to prove her point. I hear her swallow, but she continues.

"The only thing I can possibly think of that could keep that Angel alive inside of you is its memory. As long as you remember what it looks like‒the Angel‒then it still has a hold on you. An image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel." I realize Amy is starting to sound a lot like the Doctor. "So you need to forget about the Angels right now. Just close your eyes and listen to my voice. Picture me, Rory. Picture my face. That's all you need to think about. What do I look like? What does Amelia Pond look like?"

"Amelia Williams," I correct, my lids still encapsulating me in darkness.

"Amelia Williams," she repeats, a note of laughter in her voice, even though we both know this is no time for games.

I listen to Amy, and I try to do as she says. I picture her ginger hair that so perfectly fits her fiery personality. I try to remember the way it feels. Soft and thick and full of life when I twirl my fingers through the cinnamon streaks. I picture her eyes and her lashes. So full of emotion and so dark against her pale skin, even when it flushes rose with heat. I love the way her eyes crinkle when she laughs, and her glossed lips turn up into a smile that frames her porcelain teeth and gives life to her cheeks. She's beautiful when she's happy. She's beautiful when she's bored, when she's tired, when she's confused, and when she's scared. She was so beautiful when her eyes filled with fear because of the Weeping Angels before her. The Angels...

"Two," I say.

"Two?" Amy shouts, incredulous, but I know she isn't shouting at me. "What happened to six, five, four, three?"

"I'm so sorry. I slipped...but...why did I skip to two?" I apologize, but I'm still as confused as Amy.

I think she knows why, but she instead of telling me, she does the smart thing and tries to distract me. "Remember our wedding, Rory, yeah? Remember how happy we both were? Delight. That's what that day meant to me. You looked so sharp in your suit. A real gentleman. And you are, Rory Williams. You are a gentleman. You are my gentleman. Remember our wedding, Rory. What did that day mean to you?" my wife prompts, and I can hear happiness in her voice.

To me, that day meant the end of the waiting. I had been waiting for as long as I could remember to have Amelia Pond. I knew I loved her. I knew I always would. The day we got married wasn't scary at all, because I knew we would stay together. I knew because I had waited. The waiting made me strong, and it made me loving, and it made me fearless. For Amelia, I could do anything. I could go where she wanted: anywhere, really. I could defend her from aliens and fight for her with my dying breath. I could fend off armies and charge into war if she needed me to. I could wait longer than any man ever would. Two-thousand years I could wait for Amelia. But for some reason...some unbelievable reason...I couldn't...forget...the Angels.

"One," I exhale, and my eyelids snap open, letting light flood into my vision. I try to close them again. I try to forget and replace the memory of stone with the memory of Amelia, but it is too late. I look down at my arms. The skin is cracking. My flesh peels and dries before my eyes, turning grey.

"Amy," I turn to face her, even though her eyes are still on the Angels. When she sees my skin out of the corner of her eye, she forgets about the Angels and turns to face me. Her eyes meet mine, and I find myself paralyzed. Literally.

 _Amy!_  I want to shout.  _Help!_  My voice screams within me, but no sound escapes my lips. I can't do anything. I can't move. I can't speak. I want to, but I am frozen in time. All I can do is listen and watch, so I do. I hear my name escape Amy's trembling lips, her Scottish accent making me want to smile bitterly. I can't. I know Amy's hand is still in mine, but I can no longer feel her heat. The world feels cold to my touch. I watch as Amy's free hand raises to cup my cheek. I want so badly to bring my other hand to hers, or to kiss her fingers or  _something_ , but her eyes are still fixed on mine. Unblinking. It occurs to me that the three Angels have the ability to move now, but for some reason, they don't. That scares me. I watch as my Amy mouths the words "I love you," and, almost in slow motion, her eyes begin to close.  _No!_  I want to yell, but her lids come down, down, down, and the tear building in the corner of her eye is going to fall when she blinks. A lot is going to happen when she blinks, because one of her hands is entwined in mine, and her other rests on my face. Amy is touching an Angel. And for now, that's okay, because her eyes are open. But when she blinks...

Amy is gone and I can move. But now I don't want to. The only thing I want is Amy back, but I don't know if that will ever happen. I sink to my knees, and note how quickly I move, even though my entire body is stiff. I feel like I am about to pass out. Is that even possible anymore? I rest my hands on the nearest headstone and let my head hang between my shoulders, creating a cave of darkness and misery.

I am about to close my eyes, but the name on the gravestone catches my attention. I sit back on my ankles and read the old, but meticulously carved words.

_Amelia Williams_

_Aged 87_

_Beloved Wife of the Last Centurion_

_(I Love You, Rory, and I Forgive You)_

I slowly run my stone fingers over the lettering, the two surfaces making a dull, grating sound. There is no other name on the headstone, except for mine, in the form of "The Last Centurion". She never remarried. She never had children. I feel a pang in my heart‒if it even exists anymore‒for the loneliness my Amy must have felt. Suddenly, I am overcome by grief, though I find it difficult to truly believe I have lost her. Once more, I rest my cold hands on her grave and lower my head in sadness. I feel a watery fluid built up the corner of my eye, which is weird because I should be all stone now, and blink. The tear, which is real, because I can feel the cold and the wet, slides down my face and lands on the grass below. It lands on Amelia's final resting place.


End file.
